Morozko
by nathan-x
Summary: Christmas Eve, 1974. A young Vlad Masters meets the King of Winter, Jack Frost himself. A friendship blossoms and the two discover that they aren't as lonely as they think they are. [Jack Frost is Morozko]
**MOROZKO**

* * *

'The silence is the loudest when you're alone.'

* * *

 **December 24** **th,** **1974**

Christmas Eve was certainly one of the frostiest that had graced the city of Vladivostok. The streets were lit ablaze with scintillating colours of red and holly green. The faint scent of nutmeg lingered around in the air, leaving dreamy expressions on the people's faces. Carol singers flocked around the shops, singing throaty songs of praise about the heroic Stalin and the Soviet Union.

A young boy, hardly nine years old, stood at the edge of the street, far away from the merriness and joy. He was skinny, with hollow cheeks bones and lifeless eyes that could sadden the cheerful occasion with one glance at him. He wore a moth eaten light brown coat that appeared two sizes too big for him. His ebony hair was unruly, sticking out in all directions.

The boy winced, as if seeing people happy was killing him inside. Families spending time with one another; brave fathers carrying their sons and daughters over their shoulders whilst their mothers spent time at the bakers', picking the items they needed to bake _pryanikis+._ The boy, Vladimir Mastrov, hardly had a family he could call his own. His mother had died a year ago, leaving him alone with his older sister, Vasilisa and his father, Vladimir Mastrov Sr.

The senior Mastrov was devastated by his wife's death. He was a soldier in the Red Army and rarely came home to visit. Vladimir heard that his father was so angry; he had just ripped up the letter informing him of his wife's death.

After the funeral, his father had become…distant. He no longer wanted to talk to his children and frequently snapped at them. It became worse as the days passed until he had finally lost it.

He slapped Vladimir right across his face.

The boy was too shocked to say anything, but he knew that this man was no longer the kind, loving father he once was. He was a monster who still lived in the past, unleashing his sorrow and pain on his two, helpless children. Vladimir resented his father. His ailing grandmother could only do so much for them. His father continued to hit is children until one day, a month ago, he just vanished. He had left them.

The family had very little money and without their father, they were defenceless. His _babushka ++_ couldn't do much for them except cook and knit clothing. Without any money, she was forced to find a job as with Vasilisa, who had to drop out of school. Vladimir wanted to do something for them as well; they were doing so much to make sure he went to school.

He had resorted to stealing. He was never able to steal money, oh, how he would have loved to enclose his skeletal finger around a bag of coins, but alas, he wasn't able to. He managed to steal bread and other food items his family might have needed. Especially his grandmother. She was so frail, Vladimir was afraid she might drop dead any minute.

 _Babushka_ was against stealing, so Vladimir had to make sure that she never found out. It was wrong, to steal and to lie but he had to do what he could to keep his family alive. That was what he was doing in the marketplace right now, looking for an opportunity to steal. He contemplated and decided not to take the risk. The area was too crowded and someone could spot him. The last thing the young boy wanted was to be separated from his family.

Vladimir trudged through the knee high snow, going through the woods to reach his home. The trees were bare, their leafless branches covered in with the pristine whiteness. The pale rays of sunlight illuminated the naked forest ever so slightly. A gentle zephyr blew through the trees, ruffling up Vladimir's hair even more. Snow was falling lightly from the sky, giving colour to Vladimir's usually milky cheeks.

'It's Morozko's magic,' he murmured to himself. The tales of Morozko fascinated him; a winter sprite, with a ruby red nose and a mischievous smile with pearl white hair and a matching beard. He could make snowflakes fall or hailstones pelt against the earth. His mother used to tell him and Vasilisa the stories of Morozko every winter and they would listen to her enchanting voice, wide eyed and entranced.

How Vladimir wished he could see Morozko at least once. He walked further through the woods, listening to the wind warble a deep lullaby and the snow sounded like small bells chiming. Vladimir could almost hear the laughter in the woods.

Suddenly, something cold hit his back. Vladimir whipped around; someone had thrown a snowball at him. He scanned across the woods to see who might have thrown it. Strangely, he didn't feel angry, rather, he felt joyous and full of life. He wanted to laugh and giggle and make a snow angel.

Vladimir heard laughter ringing through the woods. He turned around and saw a boy perched atop a branch. He was tall, with pale, almost white skin and silvery hair. He wore a blue, lightly frosted hoodie with worn out brown pants and carried some sort of hooked wooden staff. He did not wear any shoes. He had an impish grin plastered over his face.

'Who are you?' Vladimir called out. The boy on the branch stopped laughing and peered down at him. His expression was full of shock, like he couldn't believe someone had spoken to him. Without warning, he flew down and landed in the soft snow. Vladimir's jaw dropped.

'You can see me?' The boy asked.

'Y-yes. Who are you? How did you do that?' Vladimir asked, flabbergasted. He had never seen something like that happen.

'What do the kids here call me? Ah yes, Morozko. You can call me Morozko,' he replied. Vladimir's eyes widened in surprise. How was that possible? This wasn't the way he had imagined Morozko. He was supposed to be an old man with a long scraggly beard and wizard like robes. Yet Vladimir could sense the playful aura around him. His thoughts were interrupted as Morozko started to cheer.

'Yes! I can't believe this! After two hundred and fifty years, someone who believes in me!' He whooped, flying around in circles. Morozko was grinning from ear to ear and despite Vladimir's sullen mood, he couldn't help but smile.

'Why are you so happy? You don't mean to say you're practically invisible, right?' Vladimir asked, incredulous. He started to laugh, but then stopped when he saw Morozko's frim expression.

'Ever since the Man in the Moon told me my name was Jack- er, I mean, Morozko, I have no memory of my past whatsoever. All I do is create winters and people, _children,_ have never seen or believed in me. But, you, you're different. I've never seen a child that believes in _me._ ' Vladimir's expression clearly showed that he was puzzled, which Morozko got a hold of.

'Never mind, kid, you don't wanna hear a sob story. Say, what's your name?' Morozko asked him.

'Vladimir. Vladimir Mastrov.'

'Vladimir Mastrov. That's a bit of a mouthful. Mind if I call you Vlad?'

Vladimir's mouth dropped a bit. No one had ever spoken to him this casually. Nonetheless, he found himself agreeing.

'Okay.'

'Alright Vlad, we're gonna have some fun.'

* * *

Half an hour later, Vladimir, or Vlad, was engrossed in a full on snowball war with Morozko. The minute Vlad had finished rolling at least one snowball, Morozko had already pelted him with five. Nevertheless, for the first time in his entire life, Vlad fund himself having fun with someone other than his family. It was like he finally had a friend.

'Hah! Got you!' Vlad shouted victoriously. Morozko only grinned and threw more at him, purposely making the ice slippery so Vlad couldn't balance.

'No fair, you're cheating!' Vlad said, collapsing into a fit of giggles. Soon Morozko was tickling his sides with increasing vigour. Vlad felt like his lungs were exploding from laughing so hard.

'Hey Vlad, wanna do something even cooler?' The enthusiasm in Morozko's voice only increased his anticipation.

'Yes!' Vlad cried gleefully. Suddenly, Vlad found his feet being lifted off the ground. Morozko carried him in his arms, his grip gentle but firm.

'Hold on tight Vlad! Wind, lift me up!'

The experience was exhilarating. The icy wind whipped itself against Vlad's cheeks. His ears were tinged with a slight rosy pink.

'Do you do this every day?' Vlad asked. He had to raise his voice because the wind muffled all of his words.

'Pretty much,' Morozko replied. After a couple of more minutes of flying, they slowly began to descend. The feeling was surreal; the clouds were at Vlad's fingertips, he felt as though he could go to the stars and beyond. More than flying, he felt as if the black hole of loneliness had been filled a little by the Tsar of Winter.

'Tsar Morozko, do you have any friends? Are there other beings like you?' Vlad asked curiously. Morozko pulled a face that looked like something in between a smile and a grimace.

'I'm kind of invisible,' he confessed. 'No one, in my two hundred and fifty years of existence, has ever seen me. Even with all snow that falls, all the winds and hails and all the _joy_ I can bring, not one person has ever seen me. They don't believe in Ja- Morozko.' He sighed and then continued.

'There are others like me, y'know, Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, Sandman and of course, the Easter Kangaroo.' Vlad's brow furrowed at the last name mentioned.

'The Easter Kangaroo?'

'He likes to think he's a bunny, but he's not very convincing. He and I, uh, well, we've a bad history. I caused a blizzard in Chicago during the Easter of 1968.' Morozko let out a small chortle. The two sat in silence, listening to the soft flakes falling onto the ground.

'I know how you feel,' Vlad said quietly. 'Nobody really knows who I am. When they here of my name, they just think of my father, or the orphaned boy. It is like I'm a… _ghost_. My mother, she died a year ago. She was a wonderful woman. We didn't need carols or fireworks. Christmas was illuminated with her laughter, it was contagious. In fact, every Christmas, she was the one who would tell us stories about you, Tsar Morozko. She would tell us how we should respect winter and it would bring us good.' The young boy's midnight blue eyes stared straight into the icy sapphire ones of Morozko. They glittered with an emotion Morozko couldn't quite tell.

'I'm sorry, Vlad,' was all Morozko could say. No child deserved this traumatising ordeal.

'Don't be, it wasn't your fault. She died of pneu-pneumonia. Father changed after that. He stopped caring about my sister and I. He would-and he still does- beat me. Like that would change anything. Like that would bring my mother back.' Vlad's eyes brimmed with tears, but he wouldn't let them fall. He had shed enough and he didn't want Morozko to see him upset.

'Vlad…' Morozko's voice trailed off. He put a comforting hand on Vlad's shoulders. Suddenly, it was all too much for him to handle. The waterworks started to flow. The tears tasted salty as they ran down his cheeks and onto his cracked lips.

'Hey, don't worry Vlad. I'm here. I'll always be here.' Morozko beamed, showing off his pearly whites. He enveloped Vlad into a soothing hug, upon which the boy started shivering. He immediately let go.

'Sorry, all I can do is keep you cold,' Morozko said sheepishly. Vlad managed a smile.

'Vasilisa- my sister- and I, we live with our babushka. She takes care of us as much as she can, but she's old. Sometimes, we don't even have enough food. That's why I…steal.' Vlad confessed. Surprisingly, Morozko neither gasped nor frowned. He maintained a neutral expression.

'You're what, hardly nine years old? No child should go through this. They deserve a loving family with food to eat. You're my first believer, Vlad. I will make sure nothing ever happens to you.' Morozko said determinedly.

'One day. I'll be wealthy beyond belief. I'll be a successful man, people will look up to me. I'll make my mark on the world one day.' Morozko was a little scared to hear the bitterness laced behind his voice. His tone was malicious. A young boy shouldn't be fuelled by this type of rage.

'Come on Vlad, let's get you home to your sister for Christmas Eve,' Morozko beamed.

* * *

They flew to Vlad's house, a small, shanty little place with a roof shabbily patched. The house edged more towards the gloomy pine forest. This part of town was where wild animals outnumbered humans.

'I smell…pryanikis!' Vlad exclaimed. He seemed much happier than he was before. He jumped off from Morozko's arms and proceeded to run to the house. Morozko smiled, content that Vlad was happy again.

'Tsar Morozko! Please, you come inside as well! Have a pryanikis!' Vlad called. Morozko was a little hesitant. He didn't want to make the house colder than it was and plus, this family, they were already starving. Morozko had no need to eat food.

'Alright, well, I'll come in for a little bit,' Morozko gave in. The house itself was dimly lit, with little lamps whickering and flittering every so often. There were the basics; a dining table, a kitchen, one bathroom and two tiny bedrooms. From the corner of his eye, Morozko could see Vlad's grandmother sleeping in one of the bedrooms, on a worn out mattress.

'Where's your sister?' Morozko asked, gripping his staff in his hand.

'Probably working. I want to join her, but babushka won't let me. She says I have to go to school.'

'Do you like going to school?'

'Only for the lessons. The people there are terrible.' Vlad pulled a face. 'One day, I'll show them who I am. They'll be envious of what I will become. Especially that Ivan Pavlov.' He said menacingly. Vlad's frown disappeared as he looked up curiously at Morozko.

'You know, I thought you would be older, like thousands of years old. Do you have a family?' Morozko froze, not sure how to answer that question.

'I-uh, I don't know. I don't think I have one,' Morozko confessed. 'I mean, I was drowning in a lake when the Man in The Moon, he saw me and he gave me a chance. He made me the Winter Spirit.'

'Will you stay here forever, in Vladivostok?'

'Sorry kiddo, no can do. I'm expected to create winters all over the world…' Morozko faltered when he saw Vlad's crestfallen face. 'But, I'll make sure I visit you. I'll always be by your side.' He squeezed Vlad's shoulder reassuringly.

'Merry Christmas, Vlad,' Morozko added softly. Vlad was starting to become a little sleepy, probably due to the flying. He picked him up and placed him on the bed next to his grandmother. Morozko promised himself that he would always look after the broken young by, his first believer. Concentrating intensely, Morozko started to make an ice crystal. Slowly, it morphed into the shape of two boys flying through the clouds. With one last glance, the King of Winter flew up into the pale blue sky, never forgetting his first believer.

* * *

 _A YEAR LATER_

Christmas Eve was colder than last years'. The people bundled up in their fuzziest coats and the gale shrieked and tossed their homes upside down. Morozko, Father Frost, _Jack Frost_ whizzed through the air, knocking over civilians. He had broken his promise. Vlad would never forgive him. Hell, he would never forgive himself.

Nineteen seventy five was a bleak year for Jack Frost. He was trapped in the freezing poles, unable to escape. That was a story for another bleak day. Jack's heart was beating twice as fast; he needed to make sure Vlad was okay, if he was safe.

The sight before him was devastating. The house was in ruins, the only remain being the thatched roof. Jack began hyperventilating, he was sure he would burst into snowflakes at this point. The air dipped into colder temperatures due to his emotional state.

'It sure has gotten colder,' he heard a man remark. Jack whipped around to see three men coming from the forest.

'What exactly happened here?' one of the men asked timidly. The other, who appeared to be soldiers, sighed.

'This was the home of Vladimir Mastrov, the general. He lost his wife two years ago on Christmas Eve.'

'He went mad, I heard,' the other continued. 'Began beating his son, even forcing his daughter to wed another soldier. Eventually, he snapped, killing the old babushka and young Vasilisa.'

'What about his son?' the third man asked, paling considerably. Jack too, trained his ears to listen to what happened to his believer.

'We don't know. His body was never found. Maybe he was killed or he escaped. Who knows/' The men shrugged and walked off. Jack just stayed there, frozen and numb in grief. How could he have let this happen? He had promised to protect Vlad and now, he was presumably dead.

That day, on Christmas Eve, the winter wailed agonisingly over the loss of a young boy, his only friend.

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 **pryanikis: russian honey spiced cookies.**

 **babushka:grandmother in russian.**

 **morozko is the russian folk tale name given to jack frost. he is essentially, the king of winter.**

 **-Nathan**


End file.
